


tear your world apart

by Lizzen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Knife Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: Rey’s on a mission to kidnap Kylo Ren, bring him home, but it all goes sideways when he takes a blow meant to end her life. She’s his only lifeline now and the messy aftermath will change both of their lives.





	tear your world apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LueurdeLaube](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LueurdeLaube/gifts).



> Written for LueurdeLaube for the More than Love: RFFA Valentine’s Exchange

Rey carefully lands the stolen First Order shuttle in the hangar bay, having provided stolen First Order access codes to planet security. She runs her hands along her stolen First Order uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles, and rises to her full height. She remembers the General’s words.

The General said: “He’s my best asset. Deep cover for years.”

The General said: “He has a message for you. Must be given in person.”

The General said: “Fair warning, he’s a charmer.”

She breathes in, steadies herself, and heads to the gangplank.

Greeted at the door by a flank of stormtroopers, Rey gives them the hautiest of glances. “Long live the Supreme Leader,” she says and twists her hands in the air, reinforcing her will with the Force and thinking of Kylo’s face, proud and imperious. They all stand to attention; whatever red tape they were about to bring to her is forgotten. The hangar resonates with them loudly echoing her words.

She gives a sharp salute and continues on her way. Thinks about how close she’s gotten in the past to end his coveted long life.

*  
The asset greets her at the door with the most roguish smile she’s ever seen; a sharp dissonance from the elite First Order uniform he’s wearing. “Hello, what have we here?” the man says in a low purr. Coming from anyone else, she’d make a face but in this instance, a little pink burns on her cheeks. _A charmer_ , she thinks.

“Calrissian,” she says in greeting, and holds out her hand to shake. “I’m Rey.”

He immediately takes it, raises it to his lips, and presses a gentle kiss against her skin. “I know,” he says, nodding his head. “I’ve seen your wanted poster.” He lets go of her hand. “Killing Supreme Leader Snoke and an entire host of Praetorians makes you quite the person of interest.”

“I didn’t--” she attempts and he begins to laugh.

“Never spoil a good story with the truth,” he says and ushers her in.

The room is opulent, his refined taste showing in the decor. “Does the right hand of a Grand Moff really earn enough for this?” she asks. And he shrugs.

“I have many, many side operations,” he says. “Drink?”

“I’m here for a message, sir. I’m not meant to linger.”

He watches her and she sees his expression change from teasing to something serious. She feels like he’s summing her up, deciding what to say now that she’s here in the flesh. She trusts the General enough to trust him, trust him to speak truth. His mouth opens: “Ben is on the planet.”

Blinking, she lets the words knock about in her head for a bit. The name makes her wince in the memory of believing him to be that, to be Ben Solo. “How long,” she asks and before he can answer: “And why isn’t his flagship here?”

He leans back. “A week. He doesn’t want to show his power right now. It’s a delicate thing, asking a Grand Moff for funds. I’m not sure he’s cut out for it. My master is a sophisticated son of a bitch and he’s-- Well. You know how he is.”

She nods.

“I can get you close,” he says. And Rey wonders at this; never having expected this to be the message for her ears only. Kylo Ren, in arms reach. “I trust you know what to do with him.”

Another wince. She’s thought a lot about what she’d do with him in her power. “If we can take him, your cover is blown,” she says.

Calrissian gives her the softest, saddest smile she’s seen. “What do you think my mission really was?”

*  
She watches Kylo Ren across a crowded street. He’s flanked by two Praetorian guards, and she shivers in memory. Remembers how it was to tear them apart. Sometimes-- sometimes she’s unsettled by the strength in her arm.

Behind Kylo is the Grand Moff in deep conversation with Calrissian. A few stormtroopers follow them.

For a long moment, she stares at Kylo’s face, scarred by her hand. There’s a pinched look; he’s annoyed and bored. Opening up a little to the Force, she listens to his heartbeat despite the cacophony of sound around her. It’s there, a strong and even beat. So strange, she thinks, to be so close; to see him in person since Snoke’s ship. To be in this liminal space between watching him and having him. She shifts in her stance, nervous about what she has to do.

This is her worst best chance.

And her eyes widen in horror, he’s felt her. Felt her presence. His heartbeat jumps; becomes a drum in his chest. He halts, scans the crowd with wild eyes. She can see his mouth moving to warn his guards and that’s when she shouts.

“BEN.”

(She meant to say his chosen name. And now the damage is done.)

Kylo’s eyes lock on hers and they breathe together as one; a huge suck of oxygen into their lungs and a steady push of air out.

Calrissian works faster than she imagined he could. The Moff is dead, his entourage fleeing the scene, and he’s picking off stormtroopers one by one. It’s chaos all around her, but all she can see is Kylo. Beneath all the surprise radiating out of him, she can sense the strangest feeling in his heart: hope.

And that’s when she ignites her saber with a sharp snap-hiss. “You’re coming with me,” she says quietly, knowing he can hear.

“Am I?” he challenges.

Her focus is so entirely trained on him that she forgets about the Praetorian guards till they’re in her line of sight. “You killed our brothers,” one of them says and brandishes a pair of lit knifes at her. The other lifts his lit staff. Their aggression, their hate is so profound that she feels almost dizzy from it.

Nevertheless, she charges them.

One of them draws first blood, his knife in her shoulder, kissing the scar from her last fight with these soldiers. She sets her jaw and redoubles her efforts to subdue and to kill if she must. A fleeting thought hits her: how much she wished he was at her side now, fighting with her, for her. Like they did--

But the situation is different now. Everything is different now.

With a brutal swing of her lightsaber, she slices the neck of one of the guards. A cauterized wound, but he crashes to the ground all the same. The other guard, the one with the knives, circles her. His anger is almost more than she can bear.

He fights with a frenzy, and she’s surprised at how difficult it is to block him, keep herself safe from his attacks. Her courage strengthens her, but there is the insidious introduction of fear inside of her, growing fast. A cold and merciless emotion. Failure is not an option to her, but she may be out of her depth with such a violent and wild opponent.

And in the periphery of her vision, she spots Kylo and sees unmistakable terror in his expression. _Strange_ , she thinks.

“Stop,” she hears him say, and then she is battered with a barrage of blows from the Praetorian. She blocks as best she can, but she’s bleeding further now. Her saber lifts in the air to block a stroke, but she’s miscalculated. The Praetorian’s knife is spinning through the air towards her chest and she doesn’t have time to move--

\--And Kylo pushes his way in, and takes the blade. She hears it rip through his skin. It’s only a moment of shock before the Praetorian charges, and she can sense his insanity; an unstable mind fueled by vengeance. The second knife plunges into Kylo’s thigh before Kylo can ignite and swipe his lightsaber across the Praetorian’s form. Killing him instantly.

She gasps out, not quite sure what happened. Why she is still alive. Why Kylo is crashing to the ground, knives protruding out of his body.

“He was going to kill you,” he says, looking up at her frantically. Something in the darkest reaches of her heart twists.

She reaches for his saber, and belts it with her own before kneeling to examine him, to wonder at him. There’s something like paralysis growing in her bones and _this is not the time_ she thinks. Her breath is caught in her chest, all thoughts of her own pain vanished.

Calrissian is at her side immediately. “We’ve got to go,” he says. “The window is closing, my spies are holding back further reinforcements.”

“Don’t move,” she orders, and Kylo nods. As gently as she can, she pulls out each of the two knives, horrified at the sound it makes. Horrified at the sounds he makes. Now there’s more than just her blood on her hands; _his_ blood. She always imagined him beneath her, dying, but not like this. Never like this. “We have to get you in a bacta tank,” she says.

There’s a shocking realization that if she leaves him here, he will get immediate medical attention and the best care. _No_ , she thinks; angry, rash. She eyes his wounds and considers the route back to her ship. _He’s coming with me_. She’ll risk his life just for the opportunity to have him.

Kylo’s eyes are wide open, watching her. And all he can say: “Rey.” One of his hands is clinging to her elbow. She can sense him losing coherency in his mind as his pain takes over.

“I’ll need your--” and Calrissian moves in to help hoist him up. And she orders, “Put your weight on me, Kylo, I can handle it.” He leans heavily on her, groans out. To Calrissian: “I don’t think--”

Calrissian hushes her. “Ship first, think later.”

*  
The stolen ship has a medical bay and a bacta tank, but no droid to operate it. Calrissian lies him on the table, touches her hand, and then runs for the cockpit to fully realize their escape.

“He was going to kill you,” Kylo says weakly, his face white. Panting. “I couldn’t let him.”

His words are devastating.

Rey gets to work, preparing him for the tank, and tries not to think about it. Tries to ignore how it makes her feel inside. Focuses on her task not the fact that he risked his life for her.

She’s stripped him completely before she fully realizes what she’s done. Undressed a man for the first time. Seen a man fully naked and at close quarters. As her hand lingers on his hip, her gaze focuses in on the length and curve of him. Her cheeks burn but there’s no time to hesitate. To second guess. He could die if she doesn’t--

He says her name with the shakiest of voices, and her heart aches. Turns fierce. “You’re not going to die, I won’t let you,” she orders. “Don’t even consider it.”

There’s something young in his face and he nods in submission. “I won’t,” he says and his eyes flicker closed.

She carefully puts the mask on him. Breathes in as steadily as she can, reaches out with the Force for assistance, and gets him in the tank.

*  
(He dreams of their lightsabers hissing in unison, dreams of reaching out his hand to her.

Dreams of her taking it and saying: “Yes.”)

*  
Calrissian finds her later, leaning against the tank; her hand pressed to the glass.

“Let’s take care of you,” he says softly, and she sighs out. Surprised to remember her own wounds, and the weakness in her knees.

His hands are gentle but he keeps silent, occasionally glancing over at the body floating in bacta. Concern is his main emotion; also some semblance of conflict. She wonders.

“Did you know his father?” she asks, curious.

The reaction is immediate. He flinches, a full body sort of thing, and then looks at her with surprise and shades of pain. “What did Leia tell you about me?”

“You’re to be trusted,” she summarizes. “With my life. And, apparently, with _his_.”

His jaw sets. “I knew Han.” And renews his efforts on her bandages. An ache emerges out of him; she feels it despite being very closed to the Force at the moment. _No_ , she thinks, _it’s an_ agony _similar to Chewie’s._

“And you knew him as Ben,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Calrissian smiles softly. “Me too.”

 _Kylo Ren has brought a lot of pain in the galaxy_ , she thinks, feeling conflict in her own heart. _He’s a monster and yet--_

“I have a request,” she says, her voice steadier than her stance. “I don’t want him to wake up in a Resistance base. I want him to wake up on this ship.” _I want him to wake up with me, not with strangers._

He tenses, slight but noticeable. “Ben will get better care with them,” he says quietly. “He will scar.”

Her chin rises, and her hands fist.

Calrissian gazes at her, an appraising sort of stare. Then he shakes his head. “You have 24 hours.”

*  
When color returns to his cheeks and the machine beeps with less erratic frequency, she lets out the breath caught in her lungs.

It’s a messy business, removing a man from a bacta tank without droid assistance, but she manages with the Force as her ally. Swallowing, she pulls off the mask and finds him awake and blinking behind it. “I did as you said. I didn’t die,” he says quietly. He looks a decade younger.

“Neither did I,” she says. “Thank you.”

His gaze lingers and she can’t help but gaze back. There’s an energy between them, she can feel it in her bones, and she’s not quite sure what to make of it. He raises a hand to touch her and it startles them both -- the commitment to an intimacy and the reminder that he’s soaked in bacta.

There’s something stuck in her mouth and she makes the words come out: “I need you to -- I need to. The bacta. We have to wash it off.”

His eyes widen but he nods.

They make it to the refresher together, carefully; he’s so weak. His steps uneven and unsure. And she’s becoming wet with bacta now from holding him up. Her bloodied First Order uniform further ruined.

“I’m going to wait here--” she says, pushing him into the shower.

He looks at her and something softens in her heart. “Without a droid, I need help,” he says, and without guile. None of the Supreme Leader showing in his face; only a young man, disquieted and in need. She tightens her jaw, visualizing it first. Unsure how she feels about it. “Please.”

And she begins to remove her jacket and pants. Slides out of her undershirt and stands in her underwear. She refuses to remove everything; she requires some dignity. “This isn’t how I expected the day to go,” she says and every inch of her is a live wire.

“Yet, here we are,” and he reaches for her.

It goes like this: he stands under the streams of heated water, his hand on her shoulder to hold himself up. Her hands hold onto his waist. She stares at him, uneasy at this intimacy but unwilling to let him go. The bacta swirls around them, down the drain. Soap is next, for his long hair and body. “I--” he attempts and she bites her lip. Gathers the soap and gets her hands on him. It’s not how she ever-- it’s not what she--

 _Here we are_ , she thinks, and tries to go about it as clinically as possible. She can see his wounds, healed up with scar tissue, and her fingers run along the adjacent skin. She shivers, not quite understanding him. Understanding the _why_ of him. And in the darkest reaches of her heart, she doesn’t quite understand the _why me_ of it all.

Her hands touch every inch of him except for-- except--

He manages to wash between his legs and blushes bright crimson as they both see him to be hard. She ignores it, turns him gently to get his back and properly at his hair. “I hope you understand that you’re my prisoner,” she says as casually as she can, her fingers massaging his scalp a little to get the bacta out. “You’re never going back.”

She hears him make such a huffing noise, like this is an annoyance rather than an enormous political shift in the galaxy, a coup for the rebels, a tremendous change. “If you say so,” he replies.

Her fingers tighten in his hair, a fierce sort of tug. “I am not adverse to killing you.” She clears her throat. “I’m sure you’ve been aware of that before.”

A whisper, tight: “Yes.”

And here she is. Saving him now.

Together in water and steam, they stand without words. Just in each other’s orbit. When his breathing finally settles, she carefully trades places, gets under the water herself to wash away any bacta and soap on her. His hands move to her waist and his touch is gentle, not for support. It’s sudden, it’s unwanted, and it’s permeating her very cells: a desire unneeded grows like a canker inside of her. A vast depth of want opens like a creature’s maw and she’s stuck between four flimsy plastic walls with the man she-- she--

 _Hates_ is the wrong word. Definitely the wrong word.

He flinches at the full force of her sensory overload and confusion; her being too open than she’d like. Than she ever wanted to be. He flicks his fingers and the water turns off and the dry cycle begins. He stares at her, openly, as they’re buffered with air and drying chemicals. Something unbidden is burning behind her eyelids; visuals of skin against skin, her lips against his. The pressure of pushing against him, him unable to escape her. Him unable to push back. _This is ridiculous,_ she thinks. Her heart beats fast, and when she listens, she learns his heart is racing too.

There’s color rising on his cheeks. “We have to talk about this.”

She sucks in air so quick, she’s dizzy. “About this--”

“About me being your prisoner.” He pushes a hand against the wall, holding himself up. “You know I could overpower--” When she shoots him the most acid of looks, he raises his free hand in truce. “Let me offer another option.”

And she sees it in his mind before he opens his mouth. “No,” she says--

“Let’s just leave it all. You and me.” He pauses, gauging her. “Take me off the playing field. And you too.”

“No,” she echoes. “We--”

He leans in, close enough that she feels the heat of him. And she sees his fantasy. _A ship and the stars in front of them. Neutral planets and the occasional flight from either side hunting them down. Sparing when they’re bored and sleeping next to each other when they’re tired. A life together without ties. A life together with potential._

“I’m afraid,” she says; a confession.

His eyes are so dark. “I’m afraid too.” And then he winces. She can tell, she can feel that he’s struck with a sudden pain in his thigh.

She reaches for him, to hold him, hold him upright with her hands. And that’s when she finds herself pressed against him. Her stance like iron, and his winding around her. His hip leaning against hers which means-- and she registers it and breathes through a momentary panic -- his sex against her skin.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he whispers. “We could be together, apart from them.”

It’s unsteady the way she does it, encircles him with her arms to hold him, and leans her face against his shoulder. “You’d be running from consequence. Running from _her_.”

“Wouldn’t you want to run?,” he says, and his hand lifts, touches her hair.

 _This is too much_ , she thinks, but has no interest in letting him go. No interest in halting this conversation to discover clothes and to bandage him, drug him, even. This raw vulnerability is sucking her in; a strange seduction.

“And I’m not saying we’d--” and he squirms in her arms, “We could just be allies. Partners.”

She opens her mouth and says it before she can stop herself: “Or we could be lovers.” The words seem to echo in the room. And she’s surprised at how much she’s not ashamed of them.

His hand tightens in her hair; quite a tell. “We could,” he says so softly she can barely hear it.

They’re both picturing it, and she’s not quite sure where her thoughts begin and his end. A hazy sort of vision; him pressing against her, her breath hot against his mouth. It’s enough to make her tremble.

“I’m not--” she says, pulling away just a little, just enough so that she can stare up at him. Stare into his eyes. “I’m not saying yes, but--” She stops. Breathes. “I want to know--” and with pressure in the balls of her feet, she lifts up and presses lips against his.

The touch is a shock, electric.

He’s frozen, paralyzed in her arms and yet when his mouth opens, she deepens the kiss, curious to taste him. To know what this, what this is like -- could be like -- between them. She digs her fingernails into his skin without thinking about it, and his body shakes. She can feel him in pain. That’s when he opens his mouth further and kisses her back, with focus and a strength this time. As if he can’t get enough of her lips, tongue, teeth. The slide of his tongue against her makes her shiver and his hand in her hair tightens further.

“We should stop,” he whispers against her mouth.

She nods. “We should stop, if we don’t stop we--”

And he crashes his lips against hers, a searing sort of kiss and she’s not willing, not able to pull away. They kiss and kiss; melding against each other. And when she presses her hip hard into his, she remembers she’s wearing next to nothing, and he--. Her cheeks burn red but her hand slides down to his hip, grips him there. He groans out, and she’s uncertain if it’s pain or pleasure. With a certain amount of courage, she gets her hand on him and tugs a moment. Finds herself being kissed more thoroughly than before. His hand meets hers, helps her touch him. Her mind opens wide and his thoughts are in chaos. A smile curves on her lips. To have such power over him.

“I want--” he tries. And then: “May I--.” And then: he moves so very awkwardly so that his hand can reach her, touch her sex and push against her for a shocking pressure that makes her almost lose her footing.

There’s a desperation in her thoughts, feeling his fingers and sensing his thoughts. She lets his dick go, moves to slide her underwear to the side so he can get at her, touch her properly. His first attempts are not great, but he learns as she shows him how, helping him with pressure and rhythm.

“Are we really doing this,” he asks. “I’m not sure if this is real.” His fingers twist a little and she gasps.

“We are,” she says as pragmatically as she can. “And if you stop doing this--” She stops to close her eyes, surrender to the feeling. “I may actually kill you.”

He freezes a little, and she opens her mind, overwhelms him with the full force of her desire. And he responds with neat, even strokes against her sex. She can tell he’s tuned to her, tuned to know what she wants and she thinks: _this is everything._

It’s a surprise when she comes, so singularly focused on the incredible build up; a true destruction. The feeling is all consuming and the waves of her pleasure radiate out of her. Her breathing is ragged and she loses her grip on him. He slumps and she recalls sharply that this -- all of this is strange.

“We need to--” she starts, reaching to hold him again.

“I’ll risk reopening my wounds,” he says shortly. “I’ll risk everything if I can just--” and he finishes the sentence with a kiss, scorching. She feels it all the way to her toes.

“You’re weak,” she says.

He chuckles, the first time she’s ever heard him laugh. “I am. So what.”

“Not in here,” she breathes.

And it goes like this: a blanket is found, spread on the ground, and they spend an inordinate amount of time lying on it, kissing as if this is what they came for. As if this is what they’re thinking about.

She considers again how strange this all is. And yet, she always pictured herself besting him, always pictured him beneath her.

It’s a shock to him, she can tell, when her hand heads south and she grips him again.

“Careful,” he says.

“How do we do this?” she asks. It’s not that she doesn’t know _how_ it’s done, despite never doing it herself, but with his injury---

He rolls her over on her back. Kisses her mouth and adjusts their position. His sex is pressed against hers; solid against soft. “You need to know,” he gasps out. Unsteady in all things. “There’s nothing I want more than this.”

When he sinks into her, her back arches from the sensation; not just the physical act but their unified minds. To crave, to covet. To want. Adjustments are made again as he winces, and yet: he thrusts, she juts her hips. It works, despite his pain. Works in such beautiful, shattering ways. A mutual ruination.

She’s never-- she’s never done this before and there’s something unyielding in the heat and pressure of him. It’s not what she knows, this length and girth of him inside of her. But it’s quite unreal, incredible; the way it feels. His mind is wide open to her, filling her with the fullness of his desire for her, his need. She feels fit to burst; so full of him in every way. And the build of pleasure in the depths of her sex is almost too much-- almost.

Just when she’s getting close, she becomes aware that the wound at his thigh is weeping. Her sex clenches in a hopeless refusal but she says: “We have to stop. I have to bandage you--”

“No,” he says and keeps up the barrage, weaker this time though. “This is my last chance--”

“What if this wasn’t your last--” She can’t complete the sentence, so overwhelmed.

Panting hard. “Are you saying yes?”

She rams her hips against his and then: “I’m considering it.”

Another thrust and his eyes roll back. She can sense it before she feels it; him spilling inside of her, a sharp pulse. He groans out, and she is fully consumed by the blinding sensation of his orgasm. Sweet as it lingers. When she follows, immediate and sudden, she can see the stars.

She’s never felt like this before.

Falling to the side, he faces her and she wonders at him. Wonders at what has passed between them and what it means, what it will mean. There’s a fallout coming, and she’s not certain what it will be. “Stop,” she hears him say, and he kisses her gently. “I’m not--”

That’s when the ship suddenly rocks, obviously from being hit. A warning shot from someone one bigger, more powerful than they are.

She looks up at the ceiling, breathing out. “Maybe it’s all a moot point.”

He gets in her line of sight. All dark eyes and something so soft in his face. “Maybe I’d risk everything for you.”

Unblinking, she gazes back at him. “Let’s find out.”

 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to A&C for immediately leaping into this world with me and helping me with major emotional beats (and delicious small ones too!). Could not have done this without you girls!! XOXO 
> 
> Disclaimer: Don’t do this at home, kids; get him real medical help first and wait a few days before getting frisky. (Forget it, Jake, it’s fanfiction.) (#yolo.)


End file.
